Wishes
by gogogirl6587
Summary: Erik Destler is a hideously deformed man hidden away from society in the cellars of the Palais Garnier. Christine Daae is a beautiful young soprano living and dancing in the Palais Garnier. When the two collide, will they both get what they wished for: love and compassion from another? Mix of ALW and Kay. 1990 Y&K influences.
1. Prologue

The night was dark and dreary as Madeliene and Javert, gypsies, hid from the gendarme who were relentlessly pursuing them, despite the thunderstorm. Madeliene's small frame shivered against the wind and she clutched her crying baby boy closer to her chest. "Shut it up, Madeliene! We'll be spotted," her companion, Javert, hissed, "And cover it's face. I can't bear to look at it." Madeliene obeyed and pulled the thin shawl her infant was wrapped in around the deformed side of his body. The thunder rolled in the distance and, along with Madeliene's faint singing, soothed the child into a peaceful slumber.

All that was left to be heard was the soft patter of the remaining raindrops on the leaves. No footsteps, no shouting, just the peaceful sounds of the forest. The police who had been chasing them supposedly left their chase. It was like they vanished into thin air, they were gone so quickly. Javert turned behind him and slowly crept out from the bushes they were hiding in. "The coast is clear," Javert called back, "No cops." The two stood in disbelief in the clearing beside the shrubbery they were, just a moment ago, cowering behind. Madeliene broke the silence, "Well, we can't just stand here forever. This little one is bound to get hungry soon."

Javert started from the small clearing with Madeliene right behind him. The vines hung out at them as though meaning to ensnare the couple and take the child along. It wasn't long before they reached a small village. "Boscherville," Javert read from the sign welcoming vistors. He turned to Madeliene, "Let us just hope we don't find trouble. For our sakes and little Erik's." They walked freely into the town, nobody noticing or questioning their sudden appearance. As they walked, the chief of police, Gerard Destler, was secretly watching their every move.

At town curfew, the couple were still walking through the streets. Gerard had enough time to decide that they were both gypsies and stopped them. He grabbed Madeliene's free wrist and sneered. "Gypsies! Both of them," he yelled menacingly. Madeliene clutched Erik closer to her chest. Gerard noticed her actions and immediately drew a conclusion, "Stolen goods, no doubt. Take them from her!" Madeliene didn't care if running made her look guilty, she sprinted for the church, shouting for sanctuary.

The officers made no move to run after Madeliene, for Gerard was already sprinting after her, closing the space between them in what seemed like seconds. He roughly grabbed her shoulder and turned her towards him abruptly. This sudden motion sent her bundle flying out of her arms and onto the hard cobblestone streets. "My Erik!" cried Madeliene. Gerard ignored her screams, for he knew that gypsies would do anything to make their concocted lies more believeable. As she started to run towards the swaddle of cloth that Gerard still believed was stolen items, he pulled his baton fron his belt and and brought it down on Madeliene's skull with a deadly force. She fell limp on the cold stone and, to Javert's horror and dismay, didn't raise her head back up.

Gerard stood over the pale woman, watching as her clothes and hair were soaked with her own blood. "Won't you at least spare the child?" Javert yelled. Gerard walked closer to the bundle and heard the faint crying of an infant. "A baby?" he asked, to no one in particular. Javert walked cautiously towards the bundle, same as Gerard. "Erik," Javert whispered, "His name is Erik." Gerard moved the cloth from the deformed side of the child's face and gasped in horror.

"Not a baby, man! A monster!" Gerard cried out. "Please, monsieur, spare-" "No!" Gerard interrupted, "This...thing is going to the first freak show that will take him. As for you, you will not live to see next week!"

The last thing Javert saw as he stood on the executioner's block was Erik getting handed away to a drunkard with a flask in hand.


	2. Chapter 1

Erik threw his pen down on his desk, splattering ink where it fell, nearly destroying the piece of music he was in the middle of composing. He couldn't care less, though. He wasn't very fond of it. Another sleepless night, he thought. This wasn't unusual for him. He had given up sleeping long ago. "Closing my eyes and getting comfortable just to be tortured by nightmares is pointless," he told himself. "Besides," he said, "a monster such as I shouldn't know comfort." He went over to the only mirror in his whole domain and pulled off the dusty cloth that covered it. Erik sneered at his deformed appearance in the glass for moment before putting his mask back on.

Moments later found Erik standing on the rafters above the stage of the Palais Garnier. He stared down blankly at the stage, really thinking of nothing and nobody. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the wings of the stage. He pulled his Punjab lasso out of his coat sleeve ever so slightly. In his experience, unexpected movement wasn't good. He was sincerely surprised and relieved to see a petite, frizzy-haired brunette poke her head out from behind the curtain. His yellow eyes immediately found the ballet shoes in her small, pale hands. "A ballerina!" he whispered, "I suppose I could watch her for a little while. I have nowhere to be." And with that, Erik sat down to watch the young dancer.

Erik intently watched her as she started into the first dance of Hannibal. The young ballerina's tangled curls bounced against her back as she jumped and twirled in the air, her shoes making no noise the whole time she danced. He was amazed at the grace the girl possessed. He hadn't seen the ballerinas dance Hannibal yet, but he was sure that she had enough grace and talent for all of the corps de ballet. Suddenly, she stopped. Erik felt some dissapointment at seeing her discontinue. But his sadness was replaced by astonishment once more, for she had opened her mouth and started to sing.

He nearly fell from where he was perched above the stage. Not only can she dance, he thought, but she sings like an angel as well! She finished singing and took a bow. Erik quietly chuckled as she did this and ran off the stage with a broad smile gracing her china doll face. He immediately ran to the roof and let out an audible cry of joy. Erik looked up towards the heavens, something he hadn't done for a long time, and thanked the heavens for this wonderful gift of a woman. A shooting star passed through his line of sight, interrupting his thoughts. Erik knew it was pointless, but he didn't care. "I only wish that this woman will trust me to guide her to the greatness for which she was destined." Exhilarated, he sprinted back to his lair, mentally preparing a plan to get the mysterious woman to trust him.

Christine shot up in her bed, beads of sweat gathering on her brow. She stifled a scream, momentarily forgetting that she was alone in the dormitories. Everyone else had gone out to celebrate like they did every week on Fridays and she had opted to stay behind. She wasn't in a celebrating mood. Christine slipped out from underneath the tangled bedsheets and paced back and forth through the darkness, pondering her nightmare. She decided that thinking about it wasn't doing her much good quickly. Her small frame shook and her walking became unsteady. Christine thought of the one thing that always calmed her down: dancing. If I can tire myself out, she thought, I can go to sleep easier. She grabbed her ballet shoes and crept slowly down to the stage.

She walked out of the dormitories, already feeling a little bit more at ease. It felt somewhat comforting to be away from the place where her nightmare occurred. At the same time, she was rather proud of herself. Total darkness had always unnerved her, but she didn't notice it at all as she made her way to the stage. She got into the wings and sat down to put her shoes on. As she was lacing the ribbons, her hand hit the curtain and rustled it slightly. Christine ducked behind a set piece and hid. She sat there for a few moments, listening carefully for any sign of another human being. She poked her head outfrom behind the red satin curtain. Thankfully, she thought, no one is here. She didn't want to be bombarded with questions right now. She started dancing with small movements, merely giving an impression of the overture for Hannibal. Before she knew it, her steps were longer and more grand, and she was humming the tune to herself.

Christine danced with all of the grace she could muster. After all, she had only woken up a few minutes before. Still, she looked like she could have been a world-class ballerina. Her tangled brunette curls bounced against her back, which annoyed her usually annoyed her, but not now. She had forgotten everything but her dancing and the music inside her head. Her nightmare of just mere moments ago had dissipated in her memory. Wait, she thought, I am alone, aren't I? She stopped in the middle of her pirouette and slowly walked up to the apron of the stage. She felt like someone was watching her, but she ignored it. With a force she couldn't control, she started to sing the overture from Act 1 of Hannibal.

She felt as though she was flying as she bounced back and forth between notes. It's like dancing, Christine thought. The high notes are like jumps and turns, the more complicated steps. The lower notes are the less elaborate steps, like chene turns and glisads. She finished Alyssa's part and gave an awkward bow to the audience inside her head. Christine loved the way she felt after she sang out at the top of her lungs. It always felt good to her to get a song off of her chest. She unlaced her shoes and ran back to the dormitories, beaming the whole way there.

Christine's adreneline wouldn't stop running after she returned to the dormitories. Her plan to tire herself out had failed miserably, so she sat on the windowsill next to her bed and tried to count the stars. She sat there for a few moments, reflecting on her midnight performance. She knew her voice was good. Many people had told her so. But despite the comments that she had gotten, she knew her voice wasn't as good as it could be. Christine thought of the promise her father had made to her before he died. "When I am in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you!" She started to cry silently for her dear father. Christine looked back out at the night sky, the stars cutting tiny slits of light in the black evening atmosphere. "Where is he, Papa?" Christine cried, "You haven't forgotten, have you? If you haven't, give me a sign!" Just as she said these words, a shooting star pierced the sky. "I wish for the Angel of Music," she whispered. Suddenly feeling at peace, she went back to sleep, dreaming about her father and the Angel of Music.


	3. Chapter 2

AN: Sorry I haven't updated in a while, guys! School has been...ugh. I have had this chapter written for a while, but I just now have time to type it up. Please enjoy and review! I love reading the feedback!

"I suppose you are right, Erik," Nadir Kahn said to his friend, "She _does _have a lovely voice. You have actually done something good for another human being for once in your miserable life." "Must you always insult me, Nadir? Can't you just compliment me like a normal human being?" Erik spat back. "And you know all about being a normal human being." "If you have any interest in keeping your tongue, Nadir, I suggest you hold it. And on the subject of my life being miserable, my existance has been very much worth upholding since I heard her! She has saved me, Nadir, if you'll believe me! _She was the reason I was born!" _Just then, Erik heard Christine's ballet shoes thumping up the steps to her dressing room. For the first time in forever, Erik smiled a genuine smile, for he knew she had gotten a lead part in Hannibal, like he had requested of the managers. "Now if you'll excuse me Nadir," he said with mock politeness, "my angel would happen to be waiting for me." Erik quickly replaced his mask, where he felt it belonged, over his hideous face, and went to Christine's mirror.

Christine closed the door to her dressing room and backed up against it. She ran through the events of mere moments ago in her mind. "Let's see," she said to herself, "we were dancing Hannibal, Carlotta threw a tantrum-" "I rather thought she might, being the spoiled little toad she is," said an angelic voice, coming from behind the walls. "Angel!" Christine cried, "Did you hear me? Can you believe it? Me, a Primma Donna! Please tell me I'm not dreaming! Oh, angel!" Erik smiled at her childlike excitement from behind the mirror in her dressing room. "Calm yourself, child. Yes, I heard you. You were magnificent! Better than La Carlotta by far! I don't see why you are so surprised. I think we both knew this was coming."

"Angel, I couldn't have done it without you! My voice wasn't good until-" "Christine, stop saying that!" Erik said rather forcefully, almost yelling. Christine shrank down and made herself as small as possible. Her angel had a fierce temper, and she had just awakened it. "I'm sorry," she squeaked, " I didn't mean-" "No, Christine, I am the one who should be apologizing," he said sheepishly. He was afraid of scaring her, and always hated himself when he did. "I shouldn't have raised my voice. I just don't like to hear you berate yourself when you are so perfect." Christine couldn't supress a small giggle. "Thank you, angel," she said, somewhat embarassed. "Well," Erik said, "I suppose you should go prepare for Hannibal. Or rather, Paris should prepare for you, my dear!"

Raoul de Changy jumped out of the carriage he had ridden to the famed Palais Garnier and ran up the stairs. He was already an hour late for rehearsals of Hannibal, which he was required to attend as a chief patron of the opera, and he wasn't planning to be any more tardy than he already was. Upon his entry, he found the managers, Gile Andre and Richard Firmin, feverishly chattering away, not taking any notice of his absence. "Ahem," the vicomte cleared his throat, making the two men stop their incessant blabbering, "what have I missed?" Both of the managers bombarded him all at once, talking about a certain singer named Christine Daae. "Wait, Christine Daae?" he interrupted. "Yes, monsieur! You know her?" Andre said. "Yes, where can I find her?" "Later, monsieur, later. Now, about the props that need fixing," Firmin said, dragging the young man away, much to Raoul's dismay. Raoul had his mind made up. When he had a moment to himself, he was going to look for Christine Daae.


End file.
